Kensuku The Search
by Ithirhen
Summary: In a jungle somewhere in Vietnam, random prisoners stumble about the camp without knowing how they got there or what they are. Filled with rebellion, romance, and the bond of family. Starts as Drama/Adventure but will develop into Family/Romance/Adventure
1. Prologue

_Whoosh. Whoosh_.

This was all William Clark could hear. The rush that would have become imperceptible but for it's increasing pressure. It pushed against his eardrums and threatened to fill his nose. His sinuses already felt near-explosion, and knowledge of his previous mission was swept away with the rush.

Cold air hit his face. Gasping, he slapped at the water desperately, trying to pull himself to the surface. Of course it was a useless attempt; the weight of the river simply pulled him back down.

Strangely, despite that he was drowning, Clark could only think about how filthy the river was. He had never been much of a neat-freak. In fact, his disorganization had become a problem before he began the search. His humble home had been crowded with knickknacks of all sorts: The product of a long-term bachelor. It was almost impossible to keep the house completely clean without basic necessities such as a broom, especially when trying to survive in the center of a dense, Vietnamese jungle. So he did without.

_She _had never liked it, though.

Abigail had always despised disorganization. Even in her dirt-soiled clothing, she would desperately try to organize as they jumped from house to house, though it was a useless ambition. Clark guessed it was a way for her to hold onto who she was and that pieces were not left behind in their temporary homes. She may have been forced to act like an adult, but Abigail was still just a child.

The memory of missing Abigail gave him the will to survive. He could not leave her to whatever fate she had been taken to.

Clark attempted to use his gift to assist him. Forming his hands into claws, he used the few moments he had to tense his already-tight muscles. He smoothed his spinning body and flattened his palms. He felt the familiarity of his blood expanding.

But Clark did not succeed. The river was pushing at him from all sides, so he had no idea where to use his ability. His pathetic try at reversing the river's energy ended up only hurting him. It made the ordeal all the more terrible; the confusion of the spinning water, and the helplessness that ate him up.

Not to mention he was out of oxygen.

When he went under again, Clark got enough equilibrium to know where to kick. It strained the muscles in his legs, and Clark knew what he would say if his life weren't in peril. _I'm getting too old for this_.

Breaking free once more, he forced his eyes open, blinking past the dripping brown water. Spitting, he saw where he was headed.

There wasn't even time to groan.

Panic had already set in ages ago, yet this was different. The falling water ahead of him sent an ice that flashed his body- it was a feeling that was not unfamiliar.

Clark took a final gasp of oxygen as he was sent tumbling into the merciless churning depths of water.

He woke much later.

All was dark, and his back was bare. The air that hit it was cool, so he immediately guessed himself wet. His limbs were very tired, so even the smooth, flat surface he was sprawled over seemed extraordinarily comfortable. He didn't even want to wake up.

Clark flexed his fingers to see if they were as heavy as they felt. The surface beneath them felt like granite; they were even more laden than he had expected. He breathed deeply and tried to pull his head up, which felt like it was loaded with bricks. He wiggled his bare toes, and they were stiffer than he had ever experienced.

_Drugged. I've been drugged_. He realized.

Swearing loudly, (His throat was sore and dry.) Clark tried to sit up. He was stopped when a gloved hand pushed down the back of his neck. It crushed his nose and made it difficult to breath.

Clark had been fighting all his life. He could handle this stranger who was trying to sedate him. Teeth coming together, he tried to flip onto his back to properly face this unseen enemy. Perhaps if his system had been clean, Clark would have been able to fight him off; but his body felt as if it weighed a thousand tons.

More rubbery hands came and held down his wrists. He growled and pushed against their hold, but he was barely conscious. The instinct to survive was even stronger now than it was in the river.

The buzzing, spinning sound of surgical equipment vibrated his bones. William Clark let out a cry of mortal terror as impossible pain entered his cervical spine.

He thought no more.


	2. Familiar Faces and New Names

********* All right. Since the summary on the search list has to be so tiny, I want to include my own little description. **

** This fanfic will start out in William's perspective, but will sometimes switch to a female character. Later, chapters will switch to a female lead's permanently…for the most part. (I'm still going to be slightly omniscient.) Not much in the way of action or romance happens while we are in William's, but be patient. This is setting up the plot. For now it is mainly the characters getting to know each other and figuring out the mystery that surrounds them. **

** Once that gets started, the story turns over to a romance.**

** This story is rated T due to slight sensuality, and there may be a little language; However, the language will be at a PG level. As for the story itself, I would definitely give it a T rating-no doubt about it. **

** Enjoy! **

He stumbled into the sunlight, blinking wildly. The light reflecting off of his neon-orange jumpsuit was blinding and struck at the corners of his eyes. Heat washed over him like a wave.

The smell was overpowering: It was a mixture of vomit, cigarette smoke, urine, and stale sweat. He tried to breath through his mouth to escape the scent, but that was all the worse. The taste clung to his tongue and clouded his throat.

Muttering an oath, the man began walking against the humidity, looking around as he went.

It seemed to be some kind of camp. Long, pentagonal tents made a divided arc. They always seemed to be waving, either for a breeze, or men always coming in and out.

They were all dressed in identical jumpsuits, like a prison might be. And indeed, the camp did look to be a penitentiary of some sort, for barbed wire was visible on the borders. Up ahead was a huge opened-walled tent, where most of the prisoners were mingling. Loud voices in all accents rumbled to his ears. Through the crowd he saw many tables, and to his surprise: A towering thick building behind it. No, not quite a building. More like a well-put-together hut. It was hard to tell in this heat. Sweat was already condensing on his brow. He supposed himself to be in the middle of a tropical jungle, for foliage and green bordered the camp.

"Hey!" A young, dark-bearded man called as he came out the tent. At first he thought the shaggy man was speaking to him, but then a couple others came out. All seemed to be different ages.

"Look here." The bearded man said in a thick Scottish accent. " Looks like we got a new one." The man came and thumped him on the back. "Name's David."

He eyed David warily. He had not been expecting a warm welcome from fellow prisoners.

"This is Al." David jerked his head to a short, meaty man's direction. Tattoos crawled up Al's arms. "And Larry." David motioned to the oldest man of the group; salt-and-pepper hair speckled his sharp features. Larry seemed to be all angles and edges, with skinny elbows and hanging clothes.

"Who are you?" David asked.

He opened his mouth to speak, but found nothing came out. Wrinkling His eyebrows as he thought, he looked at the other men in confusion.

"They didn't tell you?" David asked in surprise. "Or you can't talk? Larry's a mute."

"I can speak as well as I damn please." He stated irritably, knowing that he could speak how he wished around these man. Then he stopped. Why would he care beforehand? Who would he have monitored his language for? As hard as he tried to think back, memories seemed to slip away like sand in the wind.

"All right, calm down, brother. Only way you're going to survive here is if you cooperate. Looks like you come from the same background as us. We are all in the same boat here." David shook his head. "They don't tell everybody their name. Looks like we are going to have to come up with it ourselves." David looked him over. "Keith?" He looked back to the other men, who nodded their approval. "Keith it is."

Keith sighed in defeat and nodded. He was exhausted and hungry, and had no idea where to go next.

"Why am I here?" Keith asked as he followed the trio to the open-walled tent.

"We dunno." David answered brightly. "Nobody remembers a thing."

That didn't feel quite true. When Keith thought back enough, he remembered points of frustration and fear. An object set itself in his mind with a glorified golden light floating about it. There was something special about this…thing. He just could not remember what it was.

"I remember feeling. I just can't remember specifically…" Keith began.

"Hold onto it." David interrupted. "Whatever was on your mind the most will stick with you."

When they arrived at the meeting area, Keith discovered he had been under a misapprehension. It was not in fact, a giant roof of tent, but merely a couple of tropical trees that extended slightly. It was much larger than he had expected, and most of it was open to the sky. Only a small cluster of miscellaneous equipment was covered with a low canopy.

He gathered with many other men around a long, extended metal table. It was filled with food that didn't look the least bit edible. Following the other's example, he helped himself.

"So where's your chip?" David asked around a mouthful of green.

"Pardon?" Keith turned to look at David tiredly.

"You're chip. The metal thing…" He waved a finger at the back of his neck. "Most of us have it 'ere."

The crease between his eyes returning, Keith reached a hand to the nape of his neck. "I don't feel anything." He stated huskily.

David craned his neck to see the back of Keith's head. "Lower, brother."

Slowly, Keith ran his fingers down. His stomach dropped uncomfortably when he felt an unfamiliar smooth, cool metal square slightly bigger than his thumb. He tapped it once experimentally. It sent a ping to his ears.

"Yeah, thought so. Most of us have it there, but some have it between their shoulder blades. Feel sorry for them. If you think yours is sensitive, you wouldn't believe the feeling of that bleedin' disk in your back…" David went into a long, detailed explanation, but Keith found himself drifting out.

Keith barely noticed the passing of time. Everyone seemed to wander and grumble unless given direct orders by the prison guards. (Harsh men with little to lose and little to gain.) Only when the sun began to go down did he realize the day was over. Dragging himself to David's tent, he fell into an uncomfortable sleep.

Keith could not remember his crime for being in the prison, but David eagerly told him that this was the reason his memory had been wiped. They all guessed that their crime was so horrendous that it had been erased for their own sanity. Keith seriously doubted this.

The camp looked easy to escape on his first impression. The barbed wire did not go higher than his knee, and there was a three-foot opening that seemed wide enough to dart through. He soon learned, however, that there was no where else to go.

"Don't talk like that." David said quickly that night, his eyes darting like he was a young boy instead of a grown man. "American prison guards don't like to hear that. Pisses them off. Besides, there's no point to escaping. Past here there's only jungle and bloody screaming monkeys. Some bright one gets the brilliant idea to making a run for it, now and then. _They_ usually bring back to the bodies to us." Keith wrinkled his eyebrows, trying to remember whether he was American or not.

Keith's fourth day at the camp proved to be more eventful. The morning was as one might expect. Guards with large rifles marched by tents, shouting "Up! Get up!". Larry handed him an extra jumpsuit and white T-shirt as they sluggishly rose.

"You're gonna want that." David said, pointing to the shirt. "It might be hot, but trust me. It'll be useful."

The heat was almost unbearable. Men's clothing stuck to their skin in wet patches. Keith soon became used to the strong scent of perspiration.

When they were dishing up their daily slush, Keith saw something that shocked him.

"Larry," Keith began, nudging his comrade, "Who," Keith remembered that Larry was mute, stopped, and turned to David. "Who is that, over there?" He pointed to the small figure far ahead.

"I don't remember her name." David answered. Keith noticed that Al was eyeing him warily.

"How _old_ is she?" Keith asked in bewilderment.

"Hard to say, brother." David squinted at the girl, who appeared to be sitting now. Keith envied David's good eyesight. "She's a tiny thing, isn't she? Been around a while."

"_She_? They have the men and women together?"

"'Course they do. Nowhere else to put the girls. There's another too, but she's older. Probably in her forties. Ah, there she is." He pointed off to a dark, short haired woman that Keith had originally thought a man. She was pushing a muscular, buzz-haired boy away from a seat. "Saba. Don't cross her for nothing. She doesn't speak much English anyway."

Keith returned his gaze to the much younger girl who was returning to the food-line now. He hated the thought of what could happen to her. He hated the thought of any man touching her. Men and women in a prison _together_? Who came up with this senseless idea…?

"Wouldn't think about touching her." Al said quietly, bring Keith back to the present. Al rarely spoke to Keith if he could avoid it. His eyes were flashing dangerously and suddenly seemed feral. Keith blinked at him.

"I wont." He assured him. Al continued to stare him down distrustfully. His eyes even followed Keith as he quickly walked to the other extended table, which was also overflowing with inedible food.

His stomach lurched when he saw her face clearly.

Her nut-brown hair was messily plaited in a semi-thick braid. All except her bangs which hung loose on the sides of her face, and emphasized her strong jaw and soft cheekbones. A shock of blonde ran up her part and strung out in light streaks. Though her facial features were soft and she was small in size, her figure was well developed. Keith understood why David had trouble marking her age. Personally he guessed to her to be between thirteen and twenty.

This wasn't what drew him to her. His memory was practically nonexistent, yet this face screamed _familiar_. There was something about the way her hands rarely came within a foot of each other; The way her pale mouth was pulled down tight on the corners as if she were always preparing for a fight. How her feet were always strong and centered on the ground. It sent a spark of recognition that Keith could not ignore. He _knew_ this girl.

He just had to find her name.


	3. Forgotten Power

Somebody was watching her- most definitely a man. She had learned to show most of the men that she was not afraid to put up a fight: He would _not_ touch her.

Most of them kept their distance. They knew that if Al or Frank or Donald or Mohammed didn't get to them first, Kathy would fend them off herself. Still, she knew not to get too comfortable. Saba barely said a word to her, but did tell her one thing in her rolling tongue. "Trust no man." Nobody had gotten far enough to _hurt_ Kathleen, but many had come close; it took two hands to count how many had tried on her first week. Most of the men seemed to be the average Joe, but some were scarred and slightly wrong in the mind. They craved any gratification they could get their hands on, and sometimes she was just the object they were looking for.

So she knew why his eyes didn't leave her body, and why he was coming closer. She knew that he wouldn't leave her alone unless she got her point across fast. In her peripheral vision, Kathleen could see Al standing in their direction-blatantly watching to make sure she would not be harmed. Humph. She didn't this protection. She was strong in spirit and could take this man.

Stiffly, Kathy dished up a wooden-spoon full of green beans. She did not look to his hungry face until he spoke to her.

"You must be strong." His voice was low and husky. The man's face was lined and eyes were aged, yet his hair was short and sandy and laid unkempt over his head. He had not been here long. "It must not be easy living here." He did not look her in the eyes.

"I'm not interested." Kathy said flatly, turning away from him. He was not discouraged.

"Interested?" He said, surprised. "Interested in what…?" He stopped and laughed shortly. "_That's_ not what I'm looking for. Trust me."

He was following her as she went down the food line. Kathleen glared at him out of the corners of her eyes.

"Ah. Well then, what do you want?"

"Do you recognize me?" He asked promptly. This took her off guard. She turned to his face, which was looking strangely hopeful. His blue eyes were looking intently into hers.

"No, I don't." She said slowly. "Nobody remembers anything."

"What's your name? I'm going by Keith."

"Kathleen." It slipped out before she could stop it. She looked at her tin plate, furious with herself.

"Kathleen." He repeated, disappointed.

"I'm sorry if you thought I was someone else." She said, walking away quickly. She had had enough of this conversation and of the strange man. Her spot by the copper-colored table was very inviting compared to this madness.

"You might as well quit the English accent." He called after her. Kathleen stopped in her tracks, but by force of habit, did not turn around. "You make your R's too hard. It's obvious your American."

Resuming her fast pace, she did not stop until she was in the shower cabin. The long-house had been broken for as long as all could remember, and provided a closure from others. It did have the risk of her being cornered alone, but Kathleen was too discontented to care.

That night, Kathleen could not sleep. Thoughts that seemed bearable during wake were uncomfortable and pressured in drowse. She tossed and turned in her cot until Saba shouted at her in Afrikaans. Resigned to a sleepless night, she consented to laying on her back, playing with her hands.

It was something she did often. In moments of leisure, (This was ninety-nine percent of the time.) Kathleen would sit quietly and begin touching things with her hands. If Saba was truly asleep, Kathy would roll onto her stomach, and gently place two fingers on Saba's temple-always the same spot. The other hand would slip under her cot, and grab a tiny, brown seed that was hidden between two metal bars. It was the shape of a teardrop, and laid in the very palm of her hand. She did not know why Saba was needed, but it was just habit. After doing this, she would lie on her back and simply stare at the seed.

Eyebrows furrowed and teeth clenched, she bore her eyes into the grain; for some reason it exhausted her completely. It was just as draining and productive as pushing against a wall. By the time she could no longer continue, sweat had condensed over her brow and under her arms. Kathy found herself feeling foolish and juvenile doing this idiotic exercise, but it was _hers_. It was her get-away from the camp and the danger that loomed constantly. She had no idea why she did it, or where she learned it from, she simply did it to do it.

This night, after pushing herself to exhaustion, Kathy collapsed back onto her bed. A tension headache had suddenly began stabbing behind her forehead, so she had ceased immediately. She wondered if she had gone too far. Holding the seed against her breast, she stroked it, eyes fluttering. As she moved her finger up and down it's ridged body, Kathy stopped, surprise shooting her eyebrows up her head.

There, in the sharpest point of the seed, was an unfamiliar little bob. In the pitch dark of the night, she could not see it's color, but somehow she knew what it was. After all, wasn't it obvious? When it did not come off with a gentle blow from the mouth, she was sure she knew. Eyes wide with amazement, Kathy stroked the tiny root that had not been there two minutes ago.

Eventually the headache and fatigue became too much bear, and like a wave they consumed her entirely. She would not remember the incident with the seed in the morning.

The next day Kathy woke sluggishly. Saba shouted at her to "Up! Up!" But Kathy waved her off. She rubbed the metal disk on her neck and yawned widely. The sun was peaking through the tent flap beckoningly, and a loud voice was prominent outside, but Kathy didn't really care. Usually she woke early to braid her hair and fully rouse herself.

"No, Kathy! _Adze_!" Saba said, peering out through the tent flap.

_Adze_ was the name Saba used for the prison guards. Shocked into wakefulness, Kathy leaped from the cot and furiously began plaiting her hair.

"How long?" She asked, twining a small leather cord around her braid to hold it in place. Kathy leaped from the cot and brushed off her dusty pants as she stood next to Saba, barely reaching her shoulder. (Then again, Saba seemed to be all limbs. Tall, dark, and strong, she frightened all away with one of her glares.)

"Not long." The older woman darted out the entrance. Close behind, Kathleen followed her to the thick crowd surrounding the two in the middle. Knowing she had no chance of getting past the thick wall of men, she hovered slightly out of the perimeter, eyes always alert and ears keen for words. A couple of the men regarded her with a quick flick of their eyes, but most kept their eyes on the punishment unhinging in the center of the circle. She could not see, but the noises made it clear enough. She could not leave.

"Who are you gonna blame, _Đỗ_?" The guard shouted. The thump and cry that came next made it obvious that the officer had beat the Vietnamese man.

"Me! Yes, it was me." Đỗ sobbed in Vietnamese. His speech was garbled and choked from the blood that was flooding his mouth. Inwardly Kathleen cringed at the obvious pain and carnage taking place, but she remained frozen like stone. She did not allow the others to see her whimper or weep with the man. Most of the men retained the same expression, daring another to beg for the man's life. No, this was a contest of strength.

"Speak in _English,_" The guard screamed, then his voice took a sickly soft tone. "So the rest of them can understand you."

"Me! I did it. I ran from this place. I ran, and ran. I thought I knew my country." Đỗ stopped and sobbed once. After many choked breaths and a heavy silence, he took an eerie calm. Kathleen guessed that the panting she heard now was the guard's and not the man's.

"I," There was the sound of shifting gravel as if Đỗ was changing position. "Am not a prisoner. I did no _crime_…_!_"

A gunshot cut off his speech. The terrible gurgle that was barely perceptible in the ringing air stuck with Kathy. She had seen much worse, but it disturbed her every time, to the point of nausea.

Another gunshot, and she knew he was dead. She did not move a muscle-not even to blink.

"See this? This is what happens to those who get ideas." He spat loudly. "Hell knows what got to his pal. We found his body ripped apart in the jungle." The guard laughed harshly. " Tells you something: Don't get any ideas."

He emerged from the crowd. Kathy got a glimpse of the meaty man as he paced back to the headquarters. One thin, young guard followed him impassively. Three others remained.

"Move on!" They shouted. Some of the prisoners barely spoke English, but this was something everybody knew.

Released from their curse, men began shuffling away solely, or in pairs. Before she could get a glimpse of the body that laid open in the sun, (They usually left it an hour or so before coming to pick it up.) eye's cast downward, she strode to the latrine and tried to calm her racing heart. Only the strongest men who truly did not care attempted to eat. Nobody was hungry.

When Kathy emerged, she decided to head back to the tent. Something was tugging on the back of her mind, but the skull-splitting headache emerged when she tried too hard to recall it.

"Kathy!" An uneven voice called to her. She paused and looked over her shoulder. A towering, lanky pale boy sprinted in her direction. No matter the conditions, a cocky grin was always familiar with his face. The torso-area of his orange jumpsuit hung around his hips lazily. His white T-shirt that all prisoners wore was sticking to his body, as usual. White-blonde oily hair curtained his head, while tattoos entwined his arms like vines.

Kathy waited for him to catch up before continuing.

"That was something." Frank said, jerking his thumb back to the body. Kathy clenched her fists in suppressed revulsion.

"I didn't see any of it. I only heard." She sat down by a flag-less pole. "What was it all about?"

"Well, that poor sucker got smart and ran off." Frank leaned against the pole.

"Figured that much, thanks."

Frank smiled and in spite of herself, a grin tugged on Kathy's lips.

"Yeah, wasn't a pretty sight. Got his head blown off." He wrinkled his nose.

"Ugh."

"Hey, do you think your suit is dry? I saw you hang it up yesterday. I need to change." He nudged her with his knee.

Having two jumpsuits and two T-shirts, the prisoners would hang their clothing up to dry outside the broken-down showering lodge. There they would change into their second clean pair and continue with their day. Kathleen knew the dangers of changing among the men, (Changing in the tent was even more risky.) so she usually had a friend in the stall next to her. Usually, this companion was Frank.

"Yeah, I think so. You ready?" She wanted to be as far from the body as possible.

Frank chattered and made bawdy jokes about the prison guards, as they made their way to the lodge. She kept her arms crossed and smiled half-heartedly. It was easy enough to be with Frank; He held up most of the conversation, but still listened when she had something to say. His presence kept many away, but he did not go out of his way to be annoyingly overprotective.

Kathy felt the unnerving presence of eyes staring into the back of her head. Anger and irritation bulked at their presence. Oh, she already knew who would be watching her. That stupid man- Keith- who was so sure he had known her in a past life or something. What made him think himself so brave to stare at her so?

Her stomach gave a twist when she realized there were another's eyes on her. A boy in his early twenties, it looked like. Kathy knew not to look him in the eyes, so she got a glimpse in her well-trained peripheral vision.

A smooth, bald head shined with perspiration. White teeth bit over a cracked lip. He was medium height with a lean build. Kathy did not trust him.

Luckily for Kathy and Frank, the long house was empty. They grabbed their clothing and garments from the clean clothing line, and entered. They dodged a burly red-headed man as he stumbled out.

"Hey, Kat? You ever wonder if we are gonna be here our whole lives?" He asked. Kathy raised her eyebrows and began unzipping her jumpsuit. She let it hang on her hips like Frank's did.

"Huh. 'Guess not."

"I wonder where we were before…this." He made a grand gesture to the outside. Kathy hovered near her stall.

"Maybe we've been here forever. Who knows?" She shrugged.

"I don't think so." Frank took a step closer. "I think there's more to us."

She took a step back. "Fine. Granted, maybe it's like Al says. Maybe we did something so awful we can't even remember."

"Or maybe _they_ took it from us."

Kathy rarely saw Frank so angry. He held a fist in front of his face to emphasize the heated words. A strange, resentful fervor was evident on his face. It made him look like a little boy playing a particularly competitive game, which she did not like at all.

"Don't break your hand." Kathy teased, desperately trying to retrieve her friend. She jokingly pulled his tense fingers out of his palm. For a moment he shot her a fierce glance, and she stiffened.

Instead, her attempt worked. A tired smile pulled on the edges of his mouth. "I eat with this hand. I wouldn't break this baby." He kissed the fist like it was the hand of a prized boxer.

"Good. Now, can I change?"

Nodding, Frank entered his stall and Kathy heard the clink of the lock. Giving a silent sigh of relief, she copied him and began undressing.

Kathy was used to Frank's ever changing moods, and over time she became good at pulling him out of them. She could recall many-a-time when Frank would have a fit of passion. With a cringe, Kathy remembered the day when he had gotten his foot shot when he had irritated a particular prison guard. With a face hard as stone she had nursed him back to health, with the help of Al and Mohammed who took care of him in the night. She had hoped Frank would keep quiet now and take his days as they came, but over time his free spirit festered and burned in him like magma in a volcano.

The next day Kathy was hesitant to get her breakfast. She had avoided meals as best as she could, but Frank warned her that the guards had noticed. When inquired, she had wistfully explained her motives, and Frank bristled slightly and asked if he should do something about it. But Kathy told him that it was all right-that Keith didn't seem like a real danger.

Eyes darting like a doe's, she dished herself a kind of slimy, mashed up tropical fruit onto her tin plate, then set it on the table briefly to dish some grainy beans of some sort.

To her stiffening shock, a hand came and _touched_ her from behind.

She wouldn't allow this. She couldn't let him get away with this.

"_What are you doing_?" She said through her teeth, turning to look at him. It was the bald man with the sharp white teeth and whose orange eyes were strikingly similar to a snake's.

He said something in a flurry of French with a sneering smile. Being there many Frenchmen in the camp, Kathy had a clear enough idea of what he was trying to get across.

Mouth twisting, she turned slowly to take her tin plate in her unwavering hand. She could feel the bald man's breath on the back of her neck.

Suddenly, her body pivoted on her heels. Swinging her arm and holding the plate like a blade, it made contact with his groin. When he had hunched over himself on the ground, Kathy kicked at his gut with as much strength as was in her power. There was the sound of the air leaving his mouth as she backed herself up.

"_You will not touch me like that again_." She spat, puffing hair out her mouth.

He looked up at her with his orange eyes and growled something in retort.

Taking no heed to his words, Kathy left her plate on the ground and strode away from the Frenchman; Careful not to walk too fast. She felt many more eyes on her as marched to where Al usually sat, holding her head high.

"What happened?" Al grumbled as he shifted closer to her protectively.

Kathy shook her head stiffly and gave no answer.


	4. Close Call

Hello, my dears! I've really gotten into this one and I've been watching Shogun. (Yes, I know this story takes place in Vietnam and not Japan. However, though the setting is Vietnam, the Japanese are going to have a big influence. Can someone say LOVEEEE interest? ^_^ )

Because I am like every other FanFiction author, I am going to blather about copyright. I do _not_ own X-men. Luckily,-excluding that I stole the basic idea of supernatural mutant abilities-this idea is pretty original since it started with a dream I had.

As I always do, I get a lot of inspiration from music and must give credit. That last chapter was influenced by me listening to God's Gonna Cut You Down by Johnny Cash, and as for a little bit of a sneak peak, this song will be even more influential in chapters to come.

Keith figured that Kathleen had not seen him yet from across the table. Her eyes were fixated on her hands as Al wordlessly slid his own plate in front of her. To Keith's left, David acted as if nothing had happened; He silently scooped his meal into his mouth and looked off into the distance.

Kathy had raised her head to give Al a grateful look when she saw Keith. It was a small falter, but Keith saw her eyes widen slightly when they caught his face, and returned too quickly to the plate in front of her. She grabbed a utensil and hastily began shoving food in her mouth.

Keith returned to his meal with a tiny smile playing at the sides of his lips. "You've got a strong arm, girl." He murmured, shaking his head and lapsing into silence.

After he had finished eating, Keith left the table to set off by himself. When he had first arrived, he had taken to walking the perimeter of the camp; Thinking that the prison guards would not mind since it didn't seem like they were patrolling it. Unfortunately they had in fact noticed, and David warned Keith that he should not take strolls any more.

"It's just not safe, brother." David mumbled from his bed, pulling the blanket over his head. " You ask too many questions. I don't see why you're so curious about everything. Honestly, I would rather not know."

Keith refused to wander the camp in a drunken stupor like some of the other men, so he contented himself with sitting behind a cluster of empty tents. He would gaze off into the distance and try desperately to remember _something_ about who he was. Sometimes Keith would catch a point of frustration, or the warm beam of some unknown moment of happiness, but it would always be crushed by a mist that felt like a heavy, black storm cloud. Soon he would become lost in the darkness and everything he had found would slip away.

Three weeks after Keith had arrived at the camp, Kathy and Frank met up at the broken shower long-house to change clothing. Frank was in a relatively good mood, (As usual) and Kathy found herself laughing for the first time in months. There was very little to laugh about in the prison camp, and Kathy was already a solemn sort of person. Frank had an upbeat, positive personality, and today he had a funny story about what he had heard that night from his tent which he kept to himself.

It was a weightless thing, to laugh. Kathy almost didn't recognize the joyous sound of breath moving through the lungs and out of the mouth in short bursts. The duet of laughter was a foreign sound to many of the men who wandered outside the long-house.

"Can't remember the last time I had a shower here." Frank mentioned from his stall as Kathy hung her orange jumpsuit around her hips from her own. "Can you?"

"No, I can't." She admitted.

There was the sound of booted feet on wood as Frank climbed up on the bench that was attached to his left wall. His head appeared over the stall and squinted at Kathy thoughtfully.

"Hmm." He said, cocking his head. "I wonder how long you've been here.

"A while. And Frank," Kathy began, folding her arms across her white T-shirt. "I need you to look away."

"Right. Sorry." He hopped down and pulled a clean shirt over his head.

There was the obnoxious blare of the meal horn that hit the air like a drum.

"It's early today." Frank noticed, opening his stall door.

"The zipper on my clean jumpsuit is tangled." Kathy groaned, opening her own door to hand him the orange suit.

"Let me see it."

Kathy handed him the jumpsuit and Frank tried unsuccessfully to untangle it. When did at first not succeed, he resolved to pull the strap as hard as he could.

"Stop, you're going to tear it! I think I can do it if you give me a minute." She said, sitting cross-legged on the filthy floor.

"'Kay. Fine."

Kathy once again worked on gently prying the strap away. As her fingers began to ache, she heard the angry sound of Frank's growling stomach.

"You didn't eat our second meal yesterday, did you?" She commented, looking up.

"Nope. Didn't eat the first either."

"Wait, I didn't see you the day before."

"I haven't been hungry."

"_Frank_! And you told me that _I_ should eat! Haven't the guards noticed you?"

"I've been busy!" He said indignantly.

Kathy sighed and threw the jumpsuit over her shoulder. "Why don't you head down before all the food is taken? I'm fine and everybody is probably eating."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Go."

"'Kay. I'll be looking for you though!"

"Yes, Frank. I'll let you know."

Without further adieu, Frank took off out the long-house and to the eating square.

Taking notice of the danger of being alone in the long-house, Kathy quickly went into her stall and locked the door. There she resumed her battle on the zipper strap, which was won the moment she tugged on the bottom zipper.

Shaking her head at herself, Kathy quickly changed and reached to unlock the door.

"Hello, I know you're in here." Came a slick voice in French. There was the sound of echoing footsteps as he entered.

Freezing, Kathy's breath caught. Then silently, she crept onto the bench that was attached to the stall's wall. She drew up her feet so he would not see them.

"No need to hide. I will find you." He cackled, kicking a door open. The loud noise made Kathy jump. Her heart raced in her chest.

"English. French. It doesn't matter to me." The bald man said with amusement, switching to flawless English. Due to his American accent, it seemed that he had learned English by an American.

Kathy bit her thumb and tried to think of an escape plan through her panicked mind. It involved lots of screaming and kicking and running, along with her knee to his groin…

There was a bang as he kicked her locked door.

"Found you." He murmured with a grin.

Deciding she would _not_ hide in the corner like a frightened child, Kathy bit back the chilling fear that was flooding her mouth, then hopped from the bench.

"I'm going to scream." Kathy said hoarsely, her voice coming out lower than she had usual.

"Not smart. I have a knife with me." There was a clicking sound of a polished pocket-knife that assured Kathy he was telling the truth.

"Leave me alone." Kathy commanded, holding up her chin.

"Open your door and I'll be nice."

"No."

"Open your door or I'll have to break it down."

"No." She shook her head slowly, her strong voice hiding the fear that was pushing the pulse in her neck.

There was a loud bang as he kicked at her door, then a crash that didn't leave the perimeter of the long-house as he kicked the lock open. A startled half-scream escaped her lips as she instinctively averted her eyes.

"Told you." He panted, clicking his knife open in his hand. Kathy glared at him and jerked her hand in front of her, all pretenses of fear gone. He hit her in the face then grabbed her by the hair and forced her head back. She bit him and he let go.

"So help me I'll _scream_!" She spat, backing up just a bit and not allowing herself to look at the knife. She kept complete eye contact with him the entire time.

"You scream and I'll slit your throat." He growled, bringing the knife up to her neck. "If you cooperate I promise I wont kill you."

"_Do it_!" She snarled, haphazardly waving a hand at her throat quickly. "This place is a living hell anyway. Besides, they'll hear my scream and find my body and guess who wont have time to change? I've got a lot of friends here… "

"You're bluffing." He interrupted, pushing against her neck so she was forced to back up into the wall.

"You leave now and I swear I wont say a thing. You should also know that I will fight you the entire time, clawing and biting and kicking…" She could feel the edge of the knife on her Adam's apple as she spoke.

He was quiet a moment, staring her down. Kathy kept her eyes wild and dared to hope.

"You're not worth it." He growled, closing his knife, then jogging out of the long-house.

Cathy held still a moment against the wall, catching her breath. Then, grabbing her dirty clothes, she stumbled out of the long-house before another man could enter.


End file.
